


Life

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Series: Nadadel [9]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Books, Brothers, Cousin Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Parental Pride, Sewing, Teasing, Wandering Off (Again)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Móðir... Faðir... Víkja.." roughly means 'Mother...Father...Turn.." if I've got my Norse right :) I decided to base Ancient Khuzdul on the Nordic language.</p></blockquote>





	Life

They had decided perhaps he would be most comfortable elsewhere than the House of Healing. Glóin couldn't forget that his mother had perished here and, after a particularly distressing event during which he discovered the very room Sannith had died in, had refused to ever step foot in 'this house of death' again.

"Which one of you want him?" Óin asks, eyeing the sleeping figure of his nadadith. For a young Dwarf who had sworn he wasn't at all sleepy, he certainly looks tired now. And sweet. He brings him closer and rubs his back, nuzzling his cheek against the fiery locks.

"We're having new weapons brought in. He'd be bored daft and you know how dangerous boredom, young lads and weapons are together." Dwalin says.

"You should know." Óin says, grinning wickedly at him. He, too, remembers the time Dwalin put a white hair into Gróin's head when he found Fundin's sword and nearly took his foot off. And the time Glóin discovered their adad's ax. This is more worrying to him and he stops smiling so broadly and nods. "No, you're right, it's not a good idea at the moment. Balin?"

Balin smiles gently. "It'd be no trouble. He can't do damage to himself with books, can he?"

"Let's hope not."

* * *

 

"Balin!!"

Balin tries to hide a grin as he accepts the excited hug from his youngest cousin. "This is a library, lad. A little quieter." There's a mumbled apology and he squeezes him closer before finally releasing him. "Feel free to read any book you'd like. Or if you get bored of reading, we still have the abacus.."

Glóin smiles. "I'm too old for playing with the abacus!"

"Mmm." Sure. Sure, he's too old for playing with the abacus. He smoothes the red locks which are, currently, tied in a neat braid and watches him explore the shelves of books, before getting back to his own duties.

* * *

The signs above the books read about geometry, algebra, history, geography, geology, weapons, armoury, cookery, sewing, knitting, but he has no interest in any of the signs and wanders until he is faced with a door. Heavy and wooden with iron studs bolted into it, he sees a sign in khuzdul runes:

**FORBIDDEN.**

Forbidden? What do they _have_ in there? He sees a lit lantern, hanging on a hook by the door and lifts it and then slides up the latch and walks into pitch darkness.  
The yellow light of the lantern shows him nothing, but three bookshelves. He walks toward them down a stone staircase and examines the first shelf.

Curses. These are for curses. He opens one book on the subject and flinches at the details of one curse involving the tongue being removed. He cautiously replaces the book and moves to the next shelf.

Enchantments. This could be rather interesting. Indeed, he might even find an enchantment to do the chores. He sets the lantern down and looks over the rows of books until one catches his eye.

* * *

Where is his little cousin? Balin walks around the library again, frowning in worry. Where could he have gone?

He absent-mindedly notices that the lantern is missing from the Restricted section of the library. His blood grows cold. Surely... Surely not...

He opens the door and sees a warm glow by a small figure. He steps down the stairs and hears an uncertain voice speaking in the old language.

_"Móðir... Faðir... Víkja.."_

"Stop!" He rarely raises his voice, but panic overtakes him. "Stop there!"

His cousin jumps and flinches as he receives the book and places it back onto the shelf. He grabs his shoulders, checking him over for any hurt that might have befallen him, and is left relieved to find no physical wound upon him. "Cousin, cousin, what did you think? This is a forbidden area." There's an abashed shrug. Balin gently brushes his fingertips over the thickening stubble growing on his cousin's cheeks."What were you doing?" There's no need to ask why. Indeed, as a beardling, he used to go into places he had no business being.

"The book said it can bring people from the dead." Glóin mumbles, bowing his head. "Wanted Mammy and Da back."

Ah. Balin wraps an arm around him and lifts the lantern. "Come on, laddie. Let's go somewhere warm."

* * *

Sitting in Balin's work space, Glóin realises that it was actually freezing down there. Balin's hands, covering his, feel so warm.

"Magic does not create life." Balin explains gently.

"Mahal did."

"Mahal used His power. He is more powerful than you or I could ever dream of being. I know you only meant to bring them back to you. But..." Balin pauses. He's trying to figure out how to explain something. "They would still be...dead looking. They wouldn't have regained their personalities as living people. They would simply be able to move. That's it."

"That's horrible."

"It is." Balin holds his hands tighter. "Magic is very serious. It shouldn't be used lightly, after a moment's thought."

"I just.. Just wanted them back."

"I know." Balin releases his hands and draws him into a hug instead. "I know." He pauses and then speaks to him again. "You're not the first to attempt to use magic to bring a loved one to life and I doubt you'll be the last." His cousin draws back and sweeps a few strands of fiery red that have escaped. "You've always had the best of intentions. Just remember to think before you act, hmm?"

Glóin nods, but he can't help but think. "Did you try it?" He asks. "After Uncle Fundin?"

"I was tempted," Balin admits. "So much that I snuck the very book you discovered from the library! I knew my father's body had been...cremated, but I thought.. Oh, I suppose I thought he'd just grow a new one. Luckily, your father saw the light under the door and investigated ."

"Oh, cousin! Was he angry?"

"Angry? Well. I can't say he was thrilled about it, but he was very calm and gentle about it. I suppose he'd have done exactly the same had he been my age. He confiscated the book and brought it back here the next day."

"I can't believe they let you work here!"

"Nor can I!" Balin chuckles. He smiles warmly at him. "See, you're not the worst lad in the world." He strokes his hair affectionately, and this purposely gentle movement inspires his locks of red to break free of the plait, the ribbon and clip falling on the sofa they sit upon.  
"Oh, you're joking!" Balin mutters. "This would happen when I'm minding you... Don't laugh!"

Glóin makes, in his opinion, a valiant attempt to stop giggling and turns away, to give Balin a chance at rebraiding it. "I don't see why I can't have it free."

"You should take pride in your hair. Braid it, bead it. It's beautiful!"

"It has got all its original colour."

Balin tuts and gives him a hug. "You're not too old to be tickled half to death! Cheeky devil."

Glóin places a hand on top of that of his cousin's. "Sorry."

Balin squeezes his hand and then frees his own, gently brushing all the thick, auburn hair back and braiding it tightly. "Would you be averse to spending time here where I can keep an eye on you?"

"Um..." Glóin looks around the room. It's small and warm, a desk of dark wood and two matching chairs, a red sofa (which they now sit upon), a rug of bear fur and a bookshelf with an adjacent cupboard being the only items within the space.

"Ah. I thought you might need persuasion." Balin goes to his desk and lifts up a rectangular piece of thick, textured cream cloth. It looks like a rug, yet it has two soft woolen straps attached together by an amber bead at either end. He also brings out a handful of cylindrical objects and brings them to him. The cylinders are spools. Spools of different coloured threads. Blues, greens, yellows, oranges, reds, pinks, purples, a black, a white, a brown and two of gold and silver. There's a rattling and Balin gives him a tub of multicoloured glass beads, glittering like tiny gems. "I saw it at the market and I remembered how you like your embroidery."

His mother had taught him. He'd found it fascinating how she fixed and created clothing with such ease and insisted she taught him to do such wonderful things, which she gladly did. He hasn't sewed in ages.

"Thank you!" He examines the threads first. Then turns the rectangle sideways over his knees and selects the brown thread and begins stitching. He stitches and Balin writes on several scrolls and the minutes tick by. He feels his eyes growing heavy and tries to ignore it. Eventually, he is yawning and carefully folds up his artwork and places it on the floor and tugs a pillow under his head. He only intends to rest, but his breathing slows and his eyes shut of their own accord.

* * *

Óin is a bit later than he said, but it's no matter. Glóin is still asleep and Balin thought he might be cold and put a blanket over him. Glóin is like his father who absolutely despised the cold.

"I take it he had an exciting day!" Óin grins at him, gently touching his sibling's shoulder. "Did he behave?"

"He had an explore." Balin answers truthfully. "But nothing got damaged or destroyed."

"An _'explore'?"_ Óin repeats, raising a pale eyebrow. "Of what nature?"

"A curious one." Balin replies.

Óin rolls his eyes at him. "Fine. I'll just ask him." He smiles warmly at his sleeping brother. "Was he alright?"

"He's still grieving, but he's going to be fine."

Óin nods, gently resting a hand on his brother's hair. "Who knows," he says. _"Maybe_ he'll even step foot in the House of Healing again."

More out of curiosity than an intention of asking a harsh question, Balin asks; "How can you manage to go in?"

Óin, to his surprise, smiles. "I remember how proud they were when I told them I want to be a healer. They'd be disappointed if I gave up on it now. My father told me that people who save lives are the greatest heroes. I reckon he was wrong, there."

"To be able to save a life is a wonderful thing." Balin tells him.

"What about raising a child to be an adult?"

"That's a _miraculous_ thing."

Óin looks sharply at him and then starts laughing. His chuckles awaken the young lad who had been asleep. "At last!" Óin teases him. "I thought I'd have to leave you here all night long."

Glóin mutters something along the lines of his brother being extremely daft and sits up, yawning. He picks up his sewing and unfolds it to reveal an oval and an oblong shape set several inches apart. "I'm making Amad and Adad on this."

"Hang on," says Óin, looking close at the sewing. "You said you _can't_ sew. Why did you let me struggle with the holes in our clothes last week?"

Glóin rather wickedly grins. "Because it was _really_ funny!"

"Why, you cheeky little sod! I ought to.."

Balin clears his throat. "Why don't you discuss this.. interesting development at home?"

Óin shakes his head as if in despair, but gently relieves his brother's burden, taking all the spools of thread. "Will we see you later in the week?"

"If you'd like."

"Good." Óin smiles at him and gently nudges his brother. "Thank you, cousin."

"It's no trouble. Have a good evening!"

They go, and through the closed door, Balin distinctively hears Óin say to his brother, "I missed you." He smiles. Whatever Óin decides to do, his parents will certainly be proud.

**Author's Note:**

> "Móðir... Faðir... Víkja.." roughly means 'Mother...Father...Turn.." if I've got my Norse right :) I decided to base Ancient Khuzdul on the Nordic language.


End file.
